


silver skin and heart of gold

by LouPF



Category: Kaptein Sabeltann | Captain Sabertooth - Formoe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Blowjobs, Crimes & Criminals, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Injury Recovery, M/M, minor injury, non-human Sabeltann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: Pinky finds him in the woods, unconscious over by the old creek - naked, hurt, and so not-human it aches. But Pinky has always been kind, and he hauls him into his arms and carries him home. When he wakes, neither parts with their name.They manage to make it work anyways.
Relationships: Kaptein Sabeltann/Pinky
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Pinky finds him in the woods, unconscious over by the old creek - naked, hurt, and so not-human it aches.

But Pinky has always been kind, and he hauls him into his arms - it's not hard; he's thin, barely skin and bones - and carries him home.

His blood is pale and sickly-yellow, and Pinky cares none for it, patting cotton swabs to his wounds and cleaning them with lukewarm water. What the cuts were caused by he can't tell - there are no teeth marks, and yet the bruises are too ragged to be from any blade. Perhaps claws from some creature he doesn't know about. He doesn't take the time to think about it.

He has only one bed in the house - a double bed, leftover from the people who lived here before - but there's a bench beneath the kitchen windows. There he makes space for the lithe, bandaged creature, and he lowers him gently onto blankets and pillows.

He remains unconscious for several days. Pinky carefully pours water into his mouth, just a little bit at a time, rubbing his throat to try and trigger a swallowing reflex. Sometimes it works. He cooks broth and soup and waits for it to go cold, propping the creature up on the pillows - mindful of his bandages - to delicately get some nutrition into him.

Pinky hopes the broth is enough - and correct. The creature is human in nearly all aspects, except for his beautiful dark hair, blue skin so pale it's practically white, and teeth sharp enough to cut skin. However, his proportions - his hands, elbows, chest - even the mustache on his upper lip looks human.

Pinky isn't fooled, though. He keeps watch, most nights, sitting up for long periods at a time to watch the creature and his rising-falling chest. First when he's nearly collapsing out of exhaustion, does he creep back to his own bed, passing out for a few hours before waking and hurrying to the kitchen - to the creature. Pinky's always relieved when his chest is still rising.

He changes the bandages often, pleased to see that the creature heals fast if nothing else. The bleeding stops faster than it would in a human. Pinky is far from a healer - but, living on his own like this, one learns a few things.

And then, eight days after Pinky first found him, the creature wakes. It's sudden and soundless - Pinky sits by the round living room table, reading a book about plants, and when he looks up, the creature is watching him with icy-blue eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Pinky closes the book. "Good morning," he says. "How do you feel?"

"Who are you?" croaks the creature. He blinks, one hand fluttering up to his throat. And then he blinks again, glancing down at his hand - bandaged, still.

Pinky smiles drily. "Whatever you are, I don't think it would be a good idea to tell you."

The creature looks back up at him. He stares. Emotionless. "I asked not for your name."

"Well," says Pinky, and thinks hard. "Then I suppose I am the healer, and the carrier, and the giver. I live alone, but I am not lonely. Only seventeen summers have I walked this earth, and I hope they become many more."

The corner of the creature's lips rises into a haphazard smirk. "You have a poet's mouth," he says. There's a hint of appreciation to his tone. "Not a fae's, of course, but a poet nonetheless."

Ah, so a fae he is - Pinky had thought as much. They're known to be pretty. "And you?" he asks. "Who are you?"

The creature goes quiet for a moment. When he answers, his words are weighted and slow. "I am the stars in the midnight waters - the watcher, the hopeless, and the seeking."

"Hm," says Pinky, and thinks back to the sharpness of his teeth - like blades, he'd cut himself upon them many a time while trying to get food into him. "I think I'll call you Sabeltann."

"A good name," says Sabeltann, and inclines his head.

*

Pinky had to admit he's surprised when he sticks around. He'd expected him to leave nearly instantly after waking - offers to heal him or no - but Sabeltann makes no sign of leaving, even going as far as to search through every single cabinet and drawer in the house. 'To make sure he knows where everything is,' he says, and Pinky sighs, amused.

Pinky finds one of his bigger sweaters and offers to Sabeltann, who gracefully accepts but rarely uses it. When Pinky begs him to at _least_ put some pants on, he doesn't stop grinning for hours.

He does put pants on, though.

When Pinky changes the bandages for the third time, he tuts at Sabeltann's wounds, fingers fluttering carefully over the yellow-golden scabs. "You should be more careful," he chastises, "your body needs to heal."

Sabeltann laughs. "What do you know of fae healing?" he asks, eyes gleaming. "Adrenaline is in my blood! Without it, I'll never heal."

And with that, he climbs out of the window and onto the roof, and Pinky spends the rest of the afternoon trying to coax him down with cookies.

*

Pinky can survive nearly on his own in his little inherited cabin at the edge of the woods. He has a small farm of vegetables and spice in his back yard - materials he can pluck and find in the forest, along with various berries and mushrooms. There's a lake nearby where he regularly fishes, and he has traps set up to catch rabbits and birds. Sabeltann follows him around in the garden as he works, peering curiously at the various plants. When Pinky goes to the forest to pluck mushrooms, Sabeltann comes along. He's oddly quiet, sticking close to Pinky's side, and when they return to the cabin, he doesn't speak before dinner.

Pinky figures he misses the forest, and, while they eat, he tries to tell him he can leave whenever he wants - but Sabeltann only storms off. That night, Pinky hears him singing - he peeks out of his bedroom window to find him sitting on the roof, head tilted back towards the stars.

He doesn't recognize neither song nor language, but it sounds sorrowful, and his heart aches.

*

As much as Pinky can care for himself, though, there are some things he can't make. Like books - some kinds of flour - blankets and clothes. He has to go to the market sometime soon to stack up on resources. And also to see if there are any new books. He's read the ones he bought last time around.

However, bringing Sabeltann can surely not be a good idea - not with the village being like it is. He's also loath to leave Sabeltann alone here, though, as he seems to be a spirit of chaos as much as of the stars. It takes him several days of worrying before Pinky finally admits defeat and resorts to just talking to him about it.

Pinky has been trying to teach Sabeltann how to weave baskets for a few days, after finding him bent over an illustrated tutorial in confusion. He finds him by the small creek at the edge of his back yard, a surprisingly good attempt at a box resting half-finished in his hands. His back is bare, though he wears pants. Pinky's gaze does not linger, he tells himself, and simply puts a hand to Sabeltann's shoulder and informs him, in gentle tones, that he's going to the market.

"Why?" Sabeltann asks, putting down the basket. He leans back to look at him, his hair cascading down his back. It's so silky. Pinky felt it when he tended to his wounds. "I thought you weren't lonely." His throat dips down to his chest, bare, pale.

Pinky averts his gaze, cheeks heating. "I'm not," he says, "but I need some food and such. I'll be back before sunset. Can you behave?"

Sabeltann pretends to look offended, then leans forward again and smiles. "Certainly. No broken pots or vases while you're gone."

"No torn pillows or blankets?" Pinky jokes. He laughs when Sabeltann looks up at him, scowling.

"I'm not a _cat_."

"I'll believe it when I see it," says Pinky, and ruffles his hair. He hurries away before he can think too much about the perplexed look Sabeltann throws him.

*

The marketplace bustles with activity, as it always does. Pinky picks up a new book, trading it with a jar of uncommon but delicious mushrooms. He pays in coin for some flour, then manages to get his hands on cloth he's been eyeing for a while. There's a dark blue scarf embroidered with golden stars, and it reminds him of Sabeltann - he's taken to wearing Pinky's dark sweater, pairing it sometimes with the loose cotton pants with the moons along the hems.

He buys the scarf. Maybe he can finally convince Sabeltann to cover his chest.

His baskets are full when he starts on the way home, some fruits, meat and exotic spices being carried along with books and cloth and a new kitchen knife.

The sun sets behind him while he walks, and he absently hums a tune as he crosses familiar fields and the small bridge by the river and walks by the church and into _hi_ s territory. He recognizes the melody from the night Sabeltann sung, and Pinky smiles - maybe he'll sing again soon if Pinky asks nicely? It had been such a pretty song.

When he gets back home, Sabeltann is nowhere to be found.

*

He doesn't cry, he tells himself, but the tears on his cheeks speak a different tale. He chastises himself quietly by the table in the kitchen, clutching the dark blue scarf in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He's removed his shirt, finding the room too hot for such clothes now.

Of course, Sabeltann wouldn't stay - it was stupid of him to think so, even for only a few moments. Keeping a fae behind human walls? It was unheard of, no matter how beautiful - funny - _kind_ said fae was.

Eventually, the moon rises. Pinky's tears dry - the cup of tea empties. He sits clutching at the scarf, hoping that maybe - but no. Would Sabeltann have run off with his pants or sweater? Pinky doesn't have the strength to go look. Not now.

And then the kitchen doors leading to the back yard open, and a bare-chested Sabeltann walks in, hair wild, eyes shining. "Oh!" he says. "Hi, dear, I thought you'd be off to bed."

Pinky stands on shaking legs. He crosses the room silently, reaching up behind Sabeltann's shoulders to wrap the scarf around him, tucking the edges together at his chest. His fingers shake. "I thought," he whispers, and has to stop himself before continuing. "I thought you'd left."

Sabeltann takes him into his arms, holding him close, brushing his fingers through his hair - over his ears - against his bare back. "I wouldn't," he mutters, and his dark voice rumbles. "I wouldn't, not without telling you, fiery one."

 _Not without telling you -_ so he would leave, one day, and of course he would, but still - Pinky's breath hitches, and he bites down on a sob. He can't quite keep back the tears, though, and they fall, trickling hot down his cheeks.

"Dear," Sabeltann whispers, and he reaches down, fingers gentle on his chin as he lifts his head. "Little one, please, don't cry." He looks so tender - so careful -

And then be bends his head and kisses him.

Pinky gasps. Sabeltann pulls back immediately. "What," says Pinky, fingers clutching at the scarf around Sabeltann's shoulder, and he dares not hope, "what was that for?"

"I wanted to," says Sabeltann, "and it makes my kind happy. Is it not the same for humans?"

"You dork," says Pinky, and leans up to kiss him in return, looping his arms around his neck and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. There's tongue and teeth and fumbling hands, and Pinky isn't sure who takes the lead, but they end up in his bedroom, collapsed onto the bed.

Sabeltann sits between his legs and takes him in his mouth, and Pinky gasps and moans into the room, hands fisting in the bedsheets. He moves against him, and Sabeltann hums, going deeper. Pinky finds he quite likes his teeth on his skin, scraping gentle and teasing, and he comes with a gasp in Sabeltann's mouth. Sabeltann swallows, then sits up on his knees, grinning impishly. He leans forward, bracing his weight on either side of Pinky's face, and kisses him softly. Gently. "An apology," he mutters against Pinky's lips, drawing back, "for being so late home."

He slips out of bed and makes for the door, and Pinky, dizzy after his orgasm, nearly doesn't manage to call out after him.

But he does.

"Please," he says, reaching absentmindedly, "please... stay..."

Sabeltann stares at him for a moment. "In here?" he asks, uncertain.

Pinky closes his eyes and nods. He waits, quiet - expecting the door to close and for Sabeltann to leave.

The bed dips. Sabeltann curls against him, arms awkwardly tucked into his chest. "If you wish," he says.

He's hard against Pinky's hip.

"I can help you with that," mumbles Pinky, hand fluttering downwards.

Sabeltann's hand grasps his - gentle, but sure. "You know not what it means," he whispers. His voice is kind; understanding. He leans into him and kisses his lips again. "And I shan't tell you. Not tonight. It's late."

"But what about you?" Pinky asks.

"I'll be fine, dear," says Sabeltann, and moves, now to kiss his forehead again. "Sleep. Humans need it more."

Pinky snorts. "As though you don't? I've heard you snoring."

Sabeltann doesn't answer that, but his shoulders shake with laughter.

*

Pinky supposes things are different with the fae, for things continue on as usual. Had Sabeltann not been Sabeltann, Pinky would probably have sat him down to have a talk. If nothing else, he'd sit _himself_ down and have a serious discussion - trying to understand his own emotions and desires.

But. This is Sabeltann, and there is nothing logical about Sabeltann. He's wild and chaotic and tends to run around in a half-mad state at nearly all times, and maybe Pinky is attracted to that wilderness, or maybe he's just attracted to someone listening.

There's no point in trying to understand, and Pinky is fine with daily life going on as usual.

*

Sabeltann takes to wearing the scarf, fingering absently with the cloth at random times of the day. He'll stare blankly out at nothing, brows furrowing slightly - and Pinky will lean over and brush his fingers against that frown, easing it out. Sabeltann will be torn out of his musings, and Pinky will smile at him, never asking questions - and never getting answers.

Something must have happened, he reasons. Someone must have hurt him. It explains the wounds - and his unwillingness to leave the house or Pinky's presence for longer amounts of time - and also why he so rarely enters the forest.

Pinky is very careful with not asking. He's insanely curious, yes, but he won't press for answers Sabeltann isn't ready to give. And maybe Sabeltann is never ready to give them. It doesn't matter. Pinky just wants him to be happy.

*

One late night he sits by the table sipping cooling tea, glancing at the stars outside the window. He realizes, with surprise, that he's taken to thinking of Sabeltann as part of his home.

*

"How long are you going to stay?" Pinky asks when it's been a whole week since Sabeltann's wounds were officially declared healed by none other than Sabeltann himself.

Sabeltann, who sits in an oddly crooked way over a far better attempt at a basket, glances up with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn't planning on leaving."

Pinky flushes hot and warm. "Oh," he says.

Something cold flickers over Sabeltann's face. "Unless you would rather have me leave," he says quietly, glancing away again.

"No," Pinky says, a bit too quick for his own tastes. "No, I - am rather enjoying your presence here."

Sabeltann's cold becomes a somewhat hesitant warmth. "You're sure?" When Pinky nods, he shrugs a bit, looking down at the basket in his hands. He picks it up, twisting it around to look at it from different angles. "I have nowhere else to go."

Distracting them both by doing something ordinary while talking? It's a surprisingly human way of tackling this.

"Isn't the world typically the home of the fae?" asks Pinky, amused. He sits beside him, gently covering his hands. "I thought you came from the stars."

Sabeltann laughs. His wilderness is echoed in that laugh. "And I do, but dear, do you really think I can return? Nowhere is my home." He sits back, leaning against Pinky's shoulder. "Nay, I'd rather stay with you, as long as you'll have me, little one."

Pinky shudders, arm creeping up around him to toy with stray strands of hair. "Why do you call me that?" he asks. He's curious - and yet, he fears the answer.

"Because you are dear to me," says Sabeltann, with all the subtlety of a fae. "And you have not granted me your name."

Pinky blinks. "I have not," he agrees, saying nothing else. For all he appreciates Sabeltann's presence, the years of warnings ring in his ears.

Sabeltann doesn't seem to mind.

*

One day, over breakfast, Sabeltann is unusually quiet. He eats his toast in silence, and Pinky can't help but cast worried glances his way. He's always looked out of place when interacting with human things like this, but it's worse today, somehow.

"I have to go," Sabeltann says, finally, after the silence has stretched on and on, and his toast has laid untouched for several minutes.

Pinky swallows drily. "Go?" he repeats weakly.

"Not for long," says Sabeltann, not looking at him as he traces circles on his cup of coffee. Pinky hadn't expected him to take a liking to the drink, but, well - here they are. "Just... for the day. I think."

"Is there something you have to do?" Pinky tentatively asks - not wanting to shatter their peace, but not wanting to worry unnecessarily either.

Sabeltann is quiet for a long moment. "I don't know if you should know," he eventually settles on, speaking quietly, hushed. "I don't think that would be safe for you."

"Ah," says Pinky. There are not many things he can think of that would be dangerous to him when put side-to-side with Sabeltann. He sits very still. "Fae business, then."

"I'll be back before tomorrow," says Sabeltann, and that's answer enough for Pinky.

Pinky's fingers tighten around his glass. "Should I worry?"

"Hopefully not," says Sabeltann grimly.

So that's a hard yes to worrying. "Alright," says Pinky.

*

Pinky stays up, waiting. He knows he doesn't need to and that Sabeltann would think him ridiculous, but whenever he climbs into bed, he can't muffle the gnawing at his heart.

Sabeltann comes stumbling back sometime around three am, skin covered by greenish, yellowish blood. Pinky runs to meet him, and the blood is still wet - warm and slippery. It stinks, but he doesn't mind, looping an arm around Sabeltann's side for support.

"Not mine," Sabeltann manages to mutter out, and Pinky whispers soothing things as they slowly make their way inside.

Sabeltann promptly passes out when they're back. Pinky painstakingly cleans him off, finding cuts and bruises strewn haphazardly about - though nothing as bad as when Pinky found him. While Pinky cleans him, Sabeltann wakes again.

"What did you do?" Pinky asks, and his hands are shaking as he gently wipes down the blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.

Sabeltann closes his eyes and lies still for a while. A low rumbling sound reaches Pinky's ears; he realizes, with a start, that Sabeltann is purring. "Proved myself," Sabeltann replies.

Pinky swallows, glancing over at the bucket of water he's been using. It's green and strange after dipping the cloth so much. "Whose blood am I currently cleaning up?" he asks. He's part curious and part worried. It's obviously not human blood - that would have surprised him. And while he thinks Sabeltann would not hurt someone innocent, no matter how much he tries to forget, he is still undeniably _fae._

"An old enemy," says Sabeltann. His hand flutters down to Pinky's, resting lightly on his skin. Pinky twists his own hand to clutch at Sabeltann's, figuring he doesn't have the strength to do so himself. "You needn't worry about him now."

"You killed him," Pinky concludes.

"Yes," says Sabeltann.

Drawing a shuddery breath, Pinky drops his hand. He stands, taking the bucket to the containers over by the sink. Empty it, rinse, pour in more from the cooling boiler by the stove. A few long moments are spent cleaning the cloth.

He returns, dipping the cloth into the water again to start gently rubbing at Sabeltann's hands. There is drying blood sticking to his nails.

"Do you have many enemies?" Pinky asks.

Sabeltann gives him an unreadable look. "I'm a criminal," he finally says.

Pinky stills, if only for a few moments. "I'm housing a criminal," he says, just to voice it - just to make sure it's real.

Silence. "Does it bother you?"

He doesn't have to think about it. "No," he admits, and puts down Sabeltann's hand, reaching for his other instead. "I'm one, too."

That gets his attention. "Really? What did you do?"

"What did you do?" Pinky asks in return.

"One criminal to another?" Sabeltann says, giving him an amused look. "Not enough."

*

Sabeltann casts an intrigued look over Pinky's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Pinky, who's curled up on what is technically Sabeltann's bed (though, as far as he knows, he's never really slept there) wrapped in a few different blankets, looks up from his book of fairytales. "Reading?" he says, uncertain.

"Hm." Sabeltann edges around him, tilting his head this way and that. Pinky can't remember if he ever found it creepy, but now it's just endearing. "Will you read for me?"

A beat. "Certainly," says Pinky. "Can't you read?"

"Human words and letters make no sense to me," says Sabeltann, and climbs onto the bench-bed with him. He somehow manages to find the folds of the blankets and slips right in, tucking into Pinky's chest before pulling the sheets back up over them.

Pinky is blushing, he can tell, but he only shifts his hand to wrap it fully around Sabeltann's shoulders. "I heard you singing," he finally admits, and Sabeltann peeks up at him, smile curling gently. "Just a few weeks back - you were on the roof. I didn't understand that, either."

"The stars," Sabeltann mutters, rubbing his cheek against Pinky's shoulder. "I was praising them. They shone brightly."

"Of course you did," says Pinky, and drops a kiss to his head. He turns the page of the book, finding the start of a new fairytale.

Sabeltann falls asleep while he reads, tucked into his side, and Pinky runs his hands through his hair while humming softly.

He thinks he might ask Sabeltann to teach him how to sing like that – so Pinky could praise him.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabeltann has been gone for a while.
> 
> He's back now.

Sabeltann sits by the table in the kitchen. His long fingers are curled around a coffee cup - the living room blanket is thrown over his shoulders. He is naked beneath.

Pinky just woke up and wears only a pair of pants.

He sits. Sabeltann doesn't look up.

"So," says Pinky. "You came back."

"You moved the cups," says Sabeltann.

"And you found them anyway."

Sabeltann doesn't smile. Pinky knows he wants to. "You're predictable."

Pinky sighs. "Why are you here?"

Sabeltann turns the cup in his hands. He's silent for a while. Finally, he whispers, "It's so cold." He does look up, now, his eyes dark - pupils thin slits. "It's so cold, and I can't... I couldn't..."

Without a word, Pinky leans over, plucking the cup from his hands. The coffee has gone cold. Maybe it was never warm - he can't tell. "You used to live out there," says Pinky, and puts down the cup.

"Before you saved me," Sabeltann says. "Before I - before we..."

"I didn't save you," Pinky says softly. "I just... patched you up a little. You weren't even that hurt."

Sabeltann smiles. It's not a pleasant smile - all too-sharp teeth and dry defeat. "There's something about taking a fae out of the woods and into your own home that many people would call saving," he says, and he's not wrong, but Pinky is not many people.

"I chose this," says Pinky. "I didn't want payment, and I didn't want your boons, and I didn't - your presence was _enough."_ His voice breaks a little at the end, climbing high at the last notes of the sentence. Sabeltann leaving had hurt more than he thought it would. He concludes, stubborn: "I would not have you any other way."

Sabeltann is silent for a while. He stares at his hands, clasped in his lap. "And yet," he says, and his voice cracks, tone sore. He's quiet a bit more. Pinky waits. "And yet," Sabeltann continues, "you won't tell me your name..."

"It's Pinky," says Pinky. He's waited long enough.

It's relieving to say it.

Sabeltann stares at him for a long moment. Then he bursts into laughter.

"Hey!" Pinky complains though he can't quite help the smile tugging at his own lips. "My dad gave me that name, I'll have you know!"

"Pinky!" Sabeltann howls, all his sorrows apparently forgotten as he throws his head back, the blankets slipping down to his hips as he gasps after air. "Pinky - oh, Pinky!"

Pinky snickers. "You are the _worst_ ," he decides. "Absolutely terrible!" And then, just to be sure, "I'm glad you're back."

Sabeltann stops laughing. "Oh, that's... that's great. _Pinky..._ you must've been a tiny baby."

"I was," says Pinky drily. He stands, grabbing the blanket and pulling it back up to cover him more fully, tucking it together at his collarbone. "Did you sleep tonight?"

Sabeltann closes his eyes and leans towards him, exhaling softly. "The stars were singing," he says, fingers running light up Pinky's bare arms.

"That's a no, then," says Pinky and tugs slightly at the blankets - urging him silently to get up.

Sabeltann stands but continues talking, fingers now up his shoulders, his neck - some of them burying deep in Pinky's curls. "I wish you could hear them," Sabeltann says quietly. "Pinky... their song is so beautiful. Your heart would hear them well."

"I don't doubt it," says Pinky, and reaches up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. It tilts upward in response - a quiet, soft smile. "Come now. Let's get you to bed."

"I'm not tired," Sabeltann says. He follows Pinky anyway.

"How many nights were you _not_ listening to stars sing of distant kingdoms and fading glory while you were away?" asks Pinky drily.

Sabeltann doesn't answer. When Pinky glances back at him, he seems to be incredibly fascinated by the ceiling.

"Right, then." He laughs quietly to himself. "Bedtime, dear."

When they step into the bedroom, Sabeltann slides up to him, wrapping his arms around his torso and resting his chin on top of Pinky's head. Pinky smiles, patting his arm. "I've missed you," Sabeltann admits, his voice muffled. "Thank you for letting me in."

"Were you afraid I'd turn you away?" asks Pinky. He turns off the lantern with a slight twist of the knob. When Sabeltann doesn't answer, Pinky coos, turning to press his lips to Sabeltann's jawline. "I would never. I've missed you, too."

Sabeltann doesn't say anything before they've gotten into bed, the covers pulled up around them - limbs tangled, Sabeltann's head tucked in under Pinky's chin. "I'm sorry for laughing at your name," says Sabeltann. The words are quiet and muffled. "Thank you for telling me."

"I figured," said Pinky, running his hands through his dark hair, "that if you had malicious intent..." He shrugs. "At this point, I'm so lost in you I'd just follow along anyway."

The dark rumble of Sabeltann's otherworldly chuckle reverberates through Pinky's chest. He shudders - he'd missed that. "If it makes it any better, I'm pretty lost in you, as well." There's a pause, and then Sabeltann whispers, " _Pinky._ "

Pinky smiles. "I like how it sounds on your lips."

There's another pause, and then Sabeltann shifts closer, kissing Pinky's throat. Pinky gasps, surprised, and Sabeltann's dark chuckle comes again. "I like how _that_ sounds on _your_ lips."

Pinky's smile becomes grateful laughter - the week of worrying and longing and desperately hoping catching up to him in one heap of choking relief. Sabeltann doesn't comment on it, only lying still until he calms.

" _Sleep_ , love," Pinky says lightly, brushing fingers against his skin. "I'm also tired. I didn't get to sleep much last night."

Sabeltann shifts. There's a peek of an eye glancing up at Pinky through his mess of hair. "Whyever so?"

Pinky shrugs, pressing his nose to Sabeltann's hair. He inhales; he smells of forest still, and the wild freedom of the fae. "Thinking of you," he admits quietly. His heart aches, just the slightest bit.

Silence. Sabeltann pushes back and up - his hair falls around his face, framing his features. His eyes are shrouded in worry. "I'm sorry, jewel," he whispers, and leans forward, kissing Pinky gently.

The nickname aches a bit, as well. "It's okay," says Pinky, and means it.


End file.
